


Love of My Life (You've Hurt Me)

by TypicalSadWriter



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, how many different times can i write about truth or dare before it starts to get repetitive?, mike/bill/stan is mostly just implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypicalSadWriter/pseuds/TypicalSadWriter
Summary: Richie and Eddie's first kiss isn't nearly as romantic as Richie had hoped.It's not really romantic at all.Can Richie really be blamed, though, when all he can taste on Eddie's lips is Greta fucking Bowie?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Greta Bowie | Gretta Keene/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Love of My Life (You've Hurt Me)

**Author's Note:**

> minor tw for anxiety
> 
> title song is Love of My Life by Queen

Loving Eddie is a sort of dull ache that persists constantly in the back of Richie's mind. Some days it's worse than others. He cries a lot over it late at night. Most of the time, he can ignore it, though. It makes things easier that Eddie is the most oblivious motherfucker Richie has ever met. Richie can stare at him all he wants, can get quiet and flustered, can let loose little compliments and steal small touches without Eddie thinking anything of it. He's pretty sure the others know by now. They're in the summer between Senior year and Freshman year of college, and everything feels incredibly fragile as they straddle the line of childhood and the rest of their lives. It's a week after graduation before everyone is finally able to get together. Beverly even comes down to visit (she moved in with her aunt earlier in the year). Richie and Eddie are in the hammock that they definitely don't fit into anymore when Beverly suggests truth or dare. Ben agrees without question. Richie freezes up with a fear he thought he'd shaken.  
"Isn't that a middle school game?" Mike asks with a laugh, though he doesn't exactly say no. He even sets his cup down and scoots forward on the seat of the swing that is 'his' just as much as the hammock is Richie and Eddie's and the overturned milk crate is Bill's.  
It _is_ a middle school game, which is the stupid thing. Richie read somewhere that reverting back to old, childhood things is a coping mechanism with growing up, though. That if one participates in childish rituals, they'll feel more secure about the future. It sounds fucking ridiculous, but he's the one who wrestled Eddie down into the hammock, so maybe he's a bit of a hypocrite.

Eddie's nose scrunches up at the suggestion, but he doesn't argue either. Richie is the last one to acknowledge the suggestion, offering a shrug and a mumbled, "whatever." He can feel the frown directed at the side of his head from one Beverly Marsh, but he ignores it in favour of pinching at Eddie's pinky toe through his sock. He gets a 'thwap' in the side of the head for it, knocking his glasses askew. He gives up a wink as he fixes them and Eddie scoffs.  
Richie tries not to think too much of it, but his skin burns with the sound. A simple rejection of the stupid games he's been playing as long as he can remember, desperate for some sort of attention from his Eddie.  
"Truth," Eddie says, turning his face away from Richie and towards the group. A grin stretches onto it as easy as anything and Richie wishes that he could be the reason Eddie smiled like that.  
"How far have you and Greta gone?" Bev asks, eyebrows shooting up under her bangs. They're choppy, like she's cut them herself. Richie wouldn't be surprised if she had; she's always been cool like that, uncaring about what others think of her.  
Eddie turns about as red as Bev's hair, like he wasn't expecting the question. Really, he should have known better, playing with a group of sexually repressed (or overly developed, in Bev's case) losers. Lowercase 'L' losers, because there's nothing cool about that aspect of them.

Greta Bowie. The name feels like sandpaper against Richie's skin as it leaves Bev's mouth and he has to repress the urge to cuss at her. They started dating halfway through senior year. Greta had come up to Eddie and said, "you're my boyfriend now. Walk me to class," and Eddie turned bright red and taken her hand when it was held out to him.

"Um, we- well..." Eddie stutters over his words and despite Richie's incredible disaste for the subject at hand, he brushes his fingertips over Eddie's ankle in an attempt to soothe the flustered boy. His eyes dart towards Richie for just a moment and Richie's breath hitches. How great it is to be Greta Bowie, he thinks, to be able to turn Eddie Kaspbrak into such a beautiful disaster.  
"She shoved her hand down my pants after prom!" Eddie hisses out. He speaks way too quickly, words falling all over each other. Richie understands every single one, though. He kind of wishes he weren't so fluent in Eddie Kaspbrak all of a sudden. How he envies the people who can't understand a word Eddie says when he speeds up so severely.  
He wishes he could make himself say something in response. Anything would be better than the tightening of his jaw that actually happens as he lets himself be washed over with disgust. He is didgusted both with Greta for corrupting the sweet boy in front of him and with himself for wishing he could have been in her place.  
"Mike! Truth or dare?" Eddie asks, voicing cracking with desperation to change the topic.

Whatever good mood Richie had at the start of the night is compltely ruined as he watches the other Losers perform stupid acts designed to make each other laugh. He feels like a complete outsider, not quite present in his body as he forces it to laugh along.  
Most days it's easy, being in love with Eddie. Today is not one of those days.  
The alcohol in his cup burns more than normal as he feels himself being forced to acknowledge his desires, flames licking up his throat and through his nostrils. It feels good in a way he doesn't want to admit, helping ground himself to reality for just a moment.  
"Trashmouth, truth or dare," Richie hears through ringing ears and he blinks in the general direction the voice came from. After a moment, beautiful Beverly comes into view with her lips quirked up just a bit. Richie's lips are vibrating and he can't really feel his face as he responds, "you know me well enough, Marsh. Dare."  
He can see something sparkle in Stan's eyes and for a moment it feels like he's out of the loop. It feels like all of the Losers are in on some sort of joke at his expense and his chest tightens a bit at the thought.

"I dare you to kiss Eddie," Bev says and Richie kind of wants to cuss at her again. He wishes he could bring himself to hate her for being so god damn _knowing_ , but he can't. He never could. His eyes dart to Stan accusingly, but even he seems surprised from behind the rim of his glass. It relieves a bit of the tightness in Richie's chest, reassuring him that this isn't just some sort of game that they're all playing with him.

"Gross. Greta probably gave him AIDs or something," Richie says, stomach swooping as he forces himself to sit up. His legs straddle the hammock, hands settling on Eddie's waist to balance him as he does the same. Eddie's toes don't quite reach the ground and Richie's heart stutters with an overwhelming fondness for the boy in front of him. He plants his feet on the ground a little firmer, wanting to make sure they don't topple. He'd hate for his Eddie to get hurt.  
Except, he's not his Eddie. The strong scent of perfume and a brand of cigarettes that doesn't match the ones Richie smokes burns his nostrils and does a great job of reminding Richie of Greta's claim over Eddie.  
"She does not have AIDs!" Eddie insists, a small fist coming to hit Richie's chest harmlessly. Richie almost wants to hit Eddie back for defending her.  
"Whatever," Eddie continues, "like I want to kiss you either. You probably-" Richie holds his breath so he doesn't have to smell Greta and shoots forward, pressing their lips together. Their teeth click together a little painfully and Eddie's distaste for it is made evident with a small, disgruntled noise that is only loud enough for Richie to hear.

The kiss feels horribly wrong. All of it does. Eddie tastes like cigarettes and bubblegum that he doesn't chew, and Richie can't help but think about him making out with Greta in her car. The jealousy burns through him and his grip on Eddie's waist tightens, his body screaming at him to take Eddie back. It's wrong, it's sick and Richie jerks back with a huff. It's nothing like how Richie imagined their first kiss and he has to hold back from cussing at Bev once again.  
"Haystack, truth or dare," he says, desperate to get the attention away from him.

He waits as long as he can stand to before starting to shuffle out of the hammock with a grunted, "need a smoke." He blatantly ignores Eddie's drunken mumble about lung cancer, hauling himself up the ladder.

Richie's hands shake as he digs through his coat pocket. He can't get rid of the taste of Greta Bowie off of his lips and it fills him with pure hatred for the poor girl. The shitty thing is, he can't even blame her. He knows all too well how easy it is to fall in love with Eddie Kasbrak. The familiar taste of Winstons slowly replaces the foreign brand, but that does nothing to get rid of the overwhelming wash of emotion ravaging Richie's mind. He gets through two cigarettes before the trees start to close in on him, and a third before he decides to do anything about it.  
His feet start moving for him, carrying him deeper into the woods that he's become sickeningly familiar with. His fourth cigarette is when he hears the voice he's fallen so in love with call out to him.  
"Richie?! Where'd you go?" Richie considers ignoring Eddie for all of three seconds before he calls out, "over here!" He closes his eyes, leaning back against a tree as he waits.

He sees the white of Eddie's Keds against the dark forest floor before he sees the rest of Eddie, leaves crunching under his stride.  
"Hey," Eddie says, crossing his arms and leaning against the tree across from Richie.  
He seems like he's expecting something, but Richie doesn't really have anything to say. He can still feel Greta Bowie on his lips, can still feel a lingering hatred for her and for the beautiful boy in front of him.  
"Can we talk about what just happened?" Eddie finally says, exasperation creeping into his tone in a way that makes Richie's heart clench. Eddie Kaspbrak, who has put up with every god damn thing Richie has put him through, is finally getting annoyed.  
Richie shrugs a shoulder, dropping his cigarette to the ground and starting to pull out another. Eddie stretches his leg forward, crushing the discarded cigarette under the toe of his perfectly white shoe.  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Richie says as he clenches his teeth around the filter. He ignores the screwed up look on Eddie's face as he watches Richie cup his hand up to block whatever wind might blow, thumb on his other hand scraping against his lighter. The flame nips at his hand before it's sucked in towards his cigarette with a deep inhale from Richie. It's not until he's pocketing the lighter that Eddie speaks again.  
"I know you know what I'm talking about. What the fuck was that, 'Chie?" he presses, face screwing up. The nickname wraps around Richie like the smoke falling from Richie's lips, bringing a sort of warmth with it. Richie's shoulders forcibly relax and after a moment he closes his eyes. God, he wishes it was easier to stay mad at Eddie.  
"It's nothing, Eds. I just wanted to get the kiss over with," which isn't entirely a lie. He can hear Eddie's intake of breath, ready to argue (he fucking hates himself for how much he pays attention to Eddie and his little quirks, hates himself for knowing the subtle differences in his god damn _breathing_ ) and he picks his hand up to stop him. When he gets the silence he wordlessly asked for, he says, "nothing against you, but Greta smokes Camels and they taste and smell like ass. You should invest in some mints and cologne."

The silence that hangs between them after that is heavy and Richie's skin crawls with it. He's never been one to handle silences well and he usually doesn't have to worry about them with Eddie. Finally, his desperation for _something_ to happen gets the best of him and he opens his eyes to look at Eddie. He's frowning, bottom lip pulled between perfect teeth. He looks beautiful. Not in a girly way or anything, but in a way that is pure perfection walking. Richie wants to kiss him again.  
"Is that why you kissed me like you wanted to eat me?" Eddie asks. It's an accusation despite how gentle Eddie's voice is when he asks and Richie's jaw tightens. He suddenly feels exposed in every sense of the word.  
"Shut up, Eddie," Richie says, for lack of any real argument.

Eddie takes a moment to just stare at Richie, and Richie wonders what he sees. It can't be much, since the moonlight is mostly blocked by the trees. After a while, he shakes his head and crosses his arms.  
"So, was kissing me so disgusting that you had to run away?" Eddie asks, and he sounds genuinely hurt. Richie kind of wants to go back in time and punch himself in the arm for being such a dick.  
He wants to punch himself in the arm for being in love with his stupid best friend.

Richie presses his lips into a tight line, pushing smoke out through his nostrils. He knows that if he opens his mouth right now, their friendship is over. He's either going to tell Eddie just how often he dreams of kissing him, or he's going to tell Eddie exactly why he hates Greta fucking Bowie.

"So?!" Eddie presses, uncrossing his arms so he can throw them in the air in a way that's reminiscent of Richie's mother when he doesn't clean his room.  
"No. I wanted a cigarette," he says slowly, which is technically the truth. He wanted the escape that a cigarette would bring him and he wanted the nicotine and smoke to soothe his running anxiety.  
"You're impossible, Richie," Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest again.

Ouch.  
Richie smiles, though he has absolutely no humour behind it.  
"Yeah, I know."

Eddie's nose scrunches up in the way it only does when he's reaching his limit and Richie's heart aches. He's spent most of his life toeing the line that leads to that limit, but this time it's unintentional. This time, he can't back down just in time to get away with nothing more than a pinch on the arm or a punch on the shoulder.  
Then, Eddie's nose unscrunches and he moves to sit criss-cross on the ground in front of Richie. After a moment, Richie sinks down to meet him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know she'd ask that. I wouldn't have agreed to play if I knew," Eddie whispers, picking up a damp leaf. He turns it around in between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before setting it gently on Richie's bare knee.  
"It was just a game," Richie says, forcing his voice to stay nonchalant despite the shiver crawling up his back.  
"Stupid game," Eddie agrees, nodding.  
Richie picks up the leaf from his knee, tearing it apart slowly.  
"Rich...you know you can tell me anything...right?"

And this moment feels big. It feels a little too big for Richie, who jerks his hands back. The cherry falls from his cigarette with the sudden movement, burning a little circular hole through his shorts before he bats it away with the back of his hand. Eddie picks his own hand up, moving forward like he's going to touch. Richie tenses from head to toe until the hand falls back down into Eddie's lap.  
"I fucked your mom," Richie says instead of giving a real answer. The joke feels clumsy in his mouth.

Eddie looks patient, all things considered.  
He raises his eyebrows and waits.

Richie takes a deep breath before whispering, "I have nothing to tell you."

Wrong answer again, it seems. He's greeted with more silence and his hand curls into a fist around the now-extinguished cigarette. He feels tobacco spill out into the creases of his fingers.

"I think I might be gay," Richie whispers. His voice cracks a bit and he watches as Eddie's lips curl up into the faintest of smiles.  
His heart is trying to hammer its way out of his chest at the confession, but all Richie can focus on is that smile.  
"You think or you know?" Eddie asks.  
Richie knows.  
"I think," he answers, because absolutes are far too scary for him to face.

Eddie seems to consider this answer carefully. Richie's brows furrow when he realises that, for the first time in many years, he can't figure out what's going on in Eddie Kaspbrak's head.

"Do you like anyone?" Eddie asks.  
Yes.  
"No," Richie says, like a liar.  
Eddie stares at Richie intently, and not for the first time, Richie wonders if those big eyes can see past his skin and into his very soul.  
The silence between them stretches on for what feels like forever and Richie desperately wants to look away from Eddie's doe eyes, but he can't bring himself to; like a car crash, except the car is their friendship and his mental stability.

"Did you like kissing me?"  
Eddie finally looks away when he asks, going back to picking up leaves and starting to stack them on Richie's knee again.  
Richie swallows past the lump in his throat. Briefly, he entertains the thought that this is some sort of nightmare. He half expects a clown face to look over Eddie's shoulder at any moment now.  
"No. But, I don't think that would have been a good kiss for anyone," Richie finally manages to croak out.  
Eddie hums a bit, sounding very disinterested as he sets another leaf down.  
"Do you want to try again?"  
Richie's fist tightens around his crushed cigarette. Oh, to be Greta Bowie.

He mentally catalogues how much Eddie has had to drink tonight. Two cups of vodka and orange soda, which means he's definitely tipsy but not drunk. He knows exactly what he's offering.  
Richie swallows thickly, the word 'yes' getting caught in his throat. This is a very, very bad idea.  
Eddie looks up from his stack of leaves, lashes casting long shadows over his cheeks. He looks fucking ethereal under the moonlight and it hurts Richie in a way he couldn't even begin to describe.  
Richie nods.

Eddie smiles the prettiest fucking smile Richie has ever seen and he has to close his eyes for a moment so he can keep whatever is left of his own sanity. He does not deserve Eddie Kaspbrak.  
He feels hands settle on his knees and he opens his eyes to catch Eddie sitting up on his own knees and shuffling closer.  
Richie's nose is assaulted with perfume, nasty cigarettes, and bubblegum once again. He puffs out a low breath through his nose. Eddie leans a little closer and Richie can finally smell past Greta. He can smell the sweetness of the boys inhaler, disinfectant soap, cologne (or maybe it's aftershave, Richie's never asked) and just a bit of sweat from the muggy summer air.

"Close your eyes," Eddie request as the tips of their noses brush together. Richie closes his eyes as fast as humanly possible, like his life could very much depend on it. In this moment, it almost feels like it does.

Even with his eyes closed, he can see Eddie's eyes. Too wide, too bright. He wonders if Eddie is still looking, or if he's closing his eyes too.  
The fingers on his knees shift around a bit and he feels just a bit more of Eddie's weight lean into the palms resting there.  
He can hear Eddie inhale and it almost feels like he's taking the breath right from Richie's lungs with the action.  
Then, their lips are pressing together.  
Eddie exhales through his nose the moment after they've met and Richie can feel it skip over his cheek. He's painfully away of every contact point between them, trying desperately to memorise this moment.  
He can still taste Greta, but he's kissing Eddie. He's kissing Eddie, because Eddie wanted to kiss him. That's enough.

Richie picks his hands up, wiping them sloppily on his shorts before bringing them up to settle on the back of Eddie's neck. His back arches just a bit with the motion and he hears Eddie push out something that _almost_ sounds like a laugh. It's a muted thing, an endeared thing. It's overwhelming enough to have Richie's hands start shaking and he almost feels like crying, but he isn't entirely sure why.  
They aren't properly making out, but Eddie is smiling just a bit as his lips move and Richie's heart aches so severely that he almost pulls away. Almost.

Eddie is the one who ultimately pulls away, and it takes Richie several moments to get his brain to catch up.  
He can hear Eddie laughing quietly as he sits with his eyes still closed. He takes a few deep breaths and counts to ten before he opens them.  
Eddie is smiling that little half smile that makes Richie think he might be losing his mind. He squeezes Richie's knees twice before sitting back on his feet.  
"We should go back, Rich," he says, and Richie wonders how he can be so calm in a moment like this.  
"Okay," Richie whispers back, nodding slowly. Eddie smiles wider.

Eddie stands, brushing off his knees and them his hands before holding a hand out for Richie. Richie hesitates before reaching up and pressing their palms together.

Eddie lets go of his hand once they get back to the clubhouse entrance. He heads down the ladder first. Richie follows, relying entirely on muscle memory. He licks his lips when his feet finally hit solid ground.

The others are all talking, the night clearly having settled a bit. Beverly has her head in Ben's lap, her eyes closed as he plays with her hair with the widest god damn eyes Richie has ever seen. His whole face is pink, and he has this dopey ass smile that makes Richie's heart break a bit. He hopes, for Ben's sake, that he manages to move on during college.

Stanley has his head on Mike's stomach as they both lay on the ground, and they're speaking in whispers that Richie can't quite make out. Bill is sort of awkwardly hovering around them, like he isn't quite sure what to do with himself. Richie thinks something must have happened while he and Eddie were gone. Mike seems to sense Bill's unease, because after a moment he rolls his head over and picks a hand up to motion Bill forward.  
"You can use my shoulder as a pillow, Bill," he says just loud enough for Richie to pick up.

In mirror, Eddie offers his own call of, "hey, Rich? Come get this blanket down for me?" and Richie turns away from the mess of bodies on the floor to the short boy across the club house. He's standing in front of the shelf where they keep the stupid shower caps that Stanley bought (which no one wears anymore,) as well as the stereo, soda, a first aid kit, and a shitty blanket that Richie's mom made. It's scratchy as all hell, but it comes in handy for sleep overs.

Richie wants to argue that it's way too fucking hot for a blanket. Instead, he makes his way over to Eddie and reaches over his head to grab the blanket.  
They're too close as he does it. Eddie's shoulder brushes against his chest and Richie thinks Eddie must be able to feel his racing heartbeat.  
"Here," Richie whispers as he holds the blanket out, and his voice catches just a bit in his throat.  
He tries to swallow to remedy the situation, but his mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton.  
He makes his way to the hammock as a way to escape having to talk, toeing off his shoes before collapsing back.  
It swings kind of violently under him with the movement, and he's just tipsy enough to have to close his eyes and take in a few deep breaths to calm himself before it makes him puke.  
That might just be nerves, though.

Richie doesn't have to look to know that Eddie is taking off his shoes.  
He doesn't have to look to know that Eddie is unfolding and shaking out the blanket.  
He doesn't have to look to know that Eddie is dumping his fanny pack on the floor.

He looks when he feels a knee next to his hip.  
Eddie is working his way into the hammock, the blanket draped around his shoulders. His face is pinched, like he can't quite figure out how to move. Richie doesn't blame him- they've never done this before.  
Eddie is getting in by sitting on Richie's hips _(straddling him,_ his mind insists), small hands settling on Richie's chest.  
Richie's mind dissolves into nothingness before picking up on a constant chant of _what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck._

Eddie's knees tighten around Richie's hips as the hammock sways more and Richie swallows thickly.  
Slowly, so very slowly, Eddie lowers himself down until his face is tucked into Richie's neck.  
He doesn't kiss the skin or do anything out of the ordinary (despite how unordinary this situation is for them), but Richie is still so very aware of their position that it aches.  
He doubts he'll be getting much sleep tonight.

"Goodnight, 'Chie," Eddie mumbles. He sounds so calm about all of this that Richie is half tempted to pinch himself to make sure this is actually happening.  
"Yeah," Richie croaks out, "yeah. Goodnight."

He spends the rest of the night trying his best to stay as still as possible, trying to make sure he isn't breathing too loud or wiggling enough to wake Eddie up.  
It's the longest night of his life.

Eddie doesn't say anything about it when he rolls off of Richie the next morning.  
Richie decides to follow suit.

Eddie doesn't say anything about it when Richie drops him off at his moms house the next morning.  
Richie decides to follow suit.

The silence stretches between them for the rest of the summer.  
Richie considers asking several times over about that night. The kiss. The cuddling. Greta.

He doesn't.

Eventually, he runs out of chances to ask.  
Everyone is gathered in Richie's driveway (except for Beverly, who hasn't answered anyone's calls or letters since that weekend). They're seeing him off for college.  
"California, Baby!" Richie's dad says, laughing as he slaps the roof of Richie's car. Richie laughs back, nodding his agreement, "California or bust."  
"If it's a bust, make sure to call us, Honey," Richie's mother insists, cupping his cheeks. Her eyes are watery and she hiccups over her words in a way that makes Richie laugh again despite the way it breaks his heart.  
"I'll call either way," Richie promises. His mom sniffles, nodding weakly. His dad chuckles, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her back.

"I can't believe you're the first to leave," Mike says, shaking his head a bit as he steps up to wrap Richie in a hug. Richie snorts.  
"And you'll probably be the last, Mikey boy," he teases. Mike scoffs, ruffling Richie's hair as he pulls away.

"Promise you'll remember us when you're famous?" Bill asks once it's his turn. Richie huffs out a laugh, wrapping his arm around Bill's shoulders, jerking him down so he can use his free hand to give Bill a knuckle sandwich.  
"You think I'll ever forget this ugly mug? Keep dreamin', Big B-B-Billie." Bill pushes Richie away, but he doesn't seem offended at all as he steps back.

Ben is crying when he hugs Richie. He presses a book into Richie's hands, voice wobbling as he says, "you have to call and write. I'm serious."  
It sobers Richie up enough to have him tearing up just a bit by the time Stanley steps forward.  
He grabs Richie's hands, looking up at him with the same intensity that he had when they'd first met, way back in kindergarten. ("my name is Stanley Uris. My parents said I needed to make friends with other Jewish kids. It's nice to meet you." "I don't know what a Jewish is, but I'm pretty sure I ain't got it." "Oh. Can we be friends anyways?" "Sure, Kid. The names Richie Tozier!" Richie would later find out that he was, in fact, half Jewish.)  
"I'm really proud of you, Rich. You're gonna do great things. If not, I'll come out to California and kick your ass." Stanley squeezes Richie's hands twice before letting go and stepping back.

Richie's chest is tight as he watches Eddie step forward.  
Eddie looks small, fumbling with his hands and looking down at his Keds. Richie pastes a grin on his face despite feeling like he wants to cry more than anything.  
"Come on, Eddie Spaghetti. Don't be like that. We'll see each other before you know it. Christmas at my place this year, yeah?" He holds his hand out, and after a moment, Eddie reaches out to hold it.  
He looks up at Richie, and Richie sees that there are tears welling up in his eyes. Richie's smile falters. He pulls Eddie in for a hug in an effort to hide it.  
"Hey. I'll miss you," Richie whispers as he tucks Eddie's face into his collarbone. Eddie snuffles, arms moving to squeeze around Richie's middle.  
"Yeah," Eddie says, voice weak.  
"Hey, Richie?" Eddie says after a moment, voice dropping to a level that Richie struggles to hear, even with how close together they are.  
"Yeah?" Richie asks.  
"Me too, I think," he whispers, fingers gripping onto the back of Richie's shirt.

Richie doesn't have to ask what Eddie is talking about. He knows.  
Eddie is gay too. Maybe. He thinks.  
Richie swallows past the emotion threatening to spill out of his throat.  
"Christmas at my place," Richie repeats, squeezing Eddie tighter before letting go all together.  
Eddie puffs out a shaky breath before letting go, stepping back.  
"Christmas at your place," Eddie repeats, nodding.

Richie blows a kiss to the group at large before he backs out of the driveway.  
Eddie pretends to catch it, tucking it into his pocket.  
Richie grins to himself the entire way out of town.

**Author's Note:**

> lol they forget about christmas
> 
> this is (mostly) unbeta'd and english wasn't my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes i may have made ^^  
> thank you so much for reading


End file.
